


Drunk Lies and Sober Truth

by Bunzuku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunzuku/pseuds/Bunzuku
Summary: Enjolras was expecting Grantaire to simply hand him some posters and head back to his apartment.Instead, Grantaire shows up so exhausted that he accidentally blurts out something Enjolras was never expecting to hear. Cue a lot of screeching from all sides.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been pretty firmly established among Les Amis that Grantaire was more honest tired than drunk.

In fact, Grantaire tended to be less honest drunk than ever. Perhaps it was the experience he had, but he had never blurted out any awkward truths no matter how much he drank. He always managed to couch whatever embarrassing thought he had in such overwrought speeches that his point was lost.

That was not so when he was under-caffeinated. On the very rare occasion he hadn’t had enough coffee to give a normal person a heart-attack, he tended to say whatever thought came to his head. It was why Musichetta tended to watch over him like a hawk during exams. They’d known each other long enough that she could always cut him off before anything he’d regret slipped.

So, when Enjolras opened the door to find a clearly exhausted Grantaire, he was more than a little concerned. It didn’t look as bad as the time Grantaire started hallucinating presidents trading recipes after three weeks with only two hours of sleep, but it still didn’t look good.

At least he learned how to make the best beef stroganoff Enjolras had ever tasted.

Enjolras catalogued the bags under his eyes, the clearly unshaven beard, the probably days-old clothes and sighed. “Too many commissions again?” he guessed as he let Grantaire in. The only answer he got was a grunt as Grantaire shuffled in and plopped himself down on the nearest couch.

No matter how many times all of Les Amis offered, Grantaire never accepted any of their money. Once they’d learned that he’d been disowned for pursuing art (something they’d only learned the one time Musichetta wasn’t there to keep his tired mouth from saying too much), he was swamped with offers of assistance.

Still, whether it was pride or something else, Grantaire never budged. He insisted he wasn’t a charity and that there were more important topics to be focusing on than him.

It was around that time that Enjolras started to realize that the exasperation he often felt around Grantaire was turning into something else. Though Courfeyrac had his own theories, Enjolras insisted that it was admiration. For all of the talents he had while also struggling to keep himself afloat. That was all.

“Grantaire, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Thursday?” Grantaire said, his voice little more than a croak.

“Today’s Thursday,” Enjolras pointed out. At Grantaire’s apathetic shrug, he sighed and followed him to the couch. He hated dragging Grantaire’s lack of sleep out longer, but he had asked Grantaire to design some new posters for Les Amis, and that did take some precedence.

“Please tell me you’re going to bed after this,” he practically begged as Grantaire started rooting through his bag for the posters in question. It terrified him to see Grantaire so unlike himself. He never expected himself to actually want Grantaire to act like himself, but they'd come a long way in the four years they'd known each other. He was so used to Grantaire’s mischievous smirk that seeing him almost deflated was bizarre.

He could almost hear Courfeyrac laughing about how ‘obvious’ he was. As if he needed… those feelings to worry about a friend.

Actually, he really could hear Courfeyrac.

He turned around just in time to watch Courfeyrac leaving Combeferre’s room, looking tired and thoroughly satisfied. Enjolras once again thanked his earbuds for blocking out the sounds he’d never have been able to unhear. The satisfaction dimmed as he spotted Enjolras and Grantaire, then was replaced by a smug cheer.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, making Enjolras regret every decision that brought Courfeyrac into his life.

“You’re interrupting Grantaire handing over some posters,” Enjolras deadpanned, “I hope this isn’t too shocking for you.”

“You asked for him to bring them over at 2 am?” disbelief colored his voice as he moved closer, finally noticing Grantaire’s state of exhaustion.

“I was doing some work on my thesis,” he explained unnecessarily. Anyone who knew Enjolras knew that sleep only happened when he was passed out on his laptop, or when Combeferre managed to drag him away to bed.

Courfeyrac seemed less interested in that, and more interested in the rare sleepy-Grantaire in front of him. He gently poked the side of Grantaire’s head and chuckled as he took almost half a minute to swipe at the spot that Courfeyrac had already vacated.

“Man, how bad is it this time?” he asked, raising his hand to try again.

Enjolras slapped his hand away before answering, “a week, apparently.”

“Oh, hey, if John Adams shows up, can you ask if he knows how long that zucchini bread recipe is supposed to stay in the oven?” At Enjolras’s face he muttered a defensive, “what? It sounded good.”

With a sigh, Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, who seemed to finally locate the folder he’d been keeping the folders in. “Grantaire, do you want something to drink? Coffee?”

Before Grantaire could answer, Courfeyrac cut in. “You finished all of the coffee two days ago.”

“How do you know that?” Courfeyrac didn’t even live with them, he had his own coffee to worry about.

Smugly, Courfeyrac simply pointed at the door he’d just left, and Enjolras sighed. Traitor.

“Fine, tea?”

“You only have decaf.” Right, it was one of Combeferre’s techniques to actually make Enjolras sleep.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire muttered, “this was the last thing I had to do.”

Pouting, Courfeyrac whined, “I forgot how boring you are when you’re this tired. Can’t you make one pun? Just for me?” He batted his eyes, but instead of the usual chuckle and shove, Grantaire just stared right back.

“So, you are going to sleep after this?” Enjolras insisted. That got the most Grantaire response yet, a sigh and an eyeroll.

“Yes, I’ll sleep,” he grumbled.

“Are you sure you can get back to your apartment from here? You don’t look that steady.”

“Enjolras, I love you, but would you shut up and take the fucking posters?” He didn’t even wait for an answer, simply shoving the folder into Enjolras’s hands and throwing his bag over his shoulder. He made a noise that might’ve been a goodbye if Enjolras tried to parse it out, but his brain was in meltdown mode.

The sound of the door closing reverberated through the apartment, followed closely by Courfeyrac shrieking in laughter.

Down on the streets, Grantaire practically sleep walked his way back to his apartment. One second he was at Enjolras and Combeferre’s, the next he was home.

As he opened the door, he spotted Musichetta there with Joly and Bossuet, all tangled up in some sort of blanket and pillow nest on the floor with some DVD menu playing in the background.

So, date night went well for them.

Too tired to even turn off the TV, he left the group to cuddle as they were and stumbled back into his room. As he finally started to sleep for the first time in what felt like forever, his last words at Enjolras’s replayed in his head.

Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet were woken up by the sound of Grantaire’s horrified shrieking.


	2. Chapter 2

Part of living with Grantaire was learning to differentiate his various shrieks.  Musichetta didn’t have much trouble telling that Grantaire’s latest cry was the realization that he’d done something stupid, not a night terror or anything like that. It made it easier to send her boyfriends in to quiet him down as she made some coffee. She figured they’d need it to get through whatever was causing Grantaire’s latest crisis.

Soon, the group (minus Joly who worried about his circadian rhythms) were adequately caffeinated and sitting in the few spots of Grantaire’s room that weren’t occupied by clothes or art supplies or anything else Grantaire needed to clean up at some point but never planned to.

“So, we have about fifteen minutes before you crash again, mind telling us what set this off? At a volume that won’t get us evicted?” she cut in as he started opening his mouth to get back to where he left off.

Grantaire winced and nodded, letting out a strangled noise before muttering, “I fucked up, I fucked up so bad. I’m going to get kicked out of Les Amis and you’re all never going to see me again because I’m going to be kidnapped by the Cambodian mob for pissing off Enjolras.”

“Enjolras has ties to the Cambodian mob?” Bossuet interrupted, sounding less skeptical than the situation really called for, Musichetta thought.

“No, it’s just what I deserve for being such an idiot.” Groaning, Grantaire flopped back onto the bed and started smothering himself with his pillow.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Joly soothed, showing the kind of patience that Musichetta couldn’t help but love him for. He gently pried the pillow away and started running a hand through R’s curls, not even wincing at how greasy they definitely were by that point.

“It’s worse,” Grantaire bemoaned. At least he was leaning into Joly’s petting, a tiny smile managing to break through that Musichetta only saw because she’d developed some weird sixth-sense for his moods.

“You know if Enjolras tried to kick you out, me and Eponine would kick his ass so hard he’d be unrecognizable, right?” she pointed out. That was to say nothing of the rest of Les Amis, who were just as attached to him as she was; no matter how stubborn he was in pretending he was expendable.

“Don’t,” Grantaire whined, “he’d be right to. He just found out that I’m a creepy weirdo who’s been following him around because I’m obsessed with him. Any normal person would want to have me as far away from them as possible.”

There was a brief moment of silence as his words sank in, and when they did, it took all of Musichetta’s willpower to stay seated. Bossuet did not have that willpower, and hopped to his feet. Unlike Grantaire’s mopey horror, Bossuet was all smiles.

“You told him!” he crowed, “see? I knew you could one of these days! It was easy, wasn’t it?” In his excitement, he jumped onto the bed to give Grantaire a hug. Musichetta didn’t even have time to warn him to be careful, so she just had to watch as things quickly devolved.

It was only due to Grantaire’s quick reflexes and familiarity of Bossuet’s terrible luck that he recognized what was coming and moved Joly out of the way. Which was good, because Bossuet managed to trip on a discarded pencil and go flying into Grantaire. Judging by the crack, either Grantaire’s bed was close to breaking, or his jaw was going to need some ice. Either way, Joly immediately started to flutter around like a worried chicken as Musichetta gently started pulling the two apart.

“While I’m not quite so enthused,” she deadpanned, “I’m also glad you’ve finally made the first step towards your new life. Honestly, there was only so long this whole pining thing between you two could last.”

Grantaire sat up with a groan, rubbing the bruise that was forming along his jaw. “I’ll just pretend this is to get me ready for when Enjolras lets loose on me.”

“Wow, you do move fast” Bossuet observed with a laugh, causing Grantaire to choke on air and clearly picture things Musichetta didn't want to think about him doing. Grantaire had taken worse hits before, so no one but Joly was that worried. Speaking of, by then Joly had already retrieved an ice pack that Musichetta would’ve been surprised to see if it was anyone other than Joly. She figured he just happened to have medical supplies stashed all over her apartment just in case.

One quick check-up later, the four were back in their earlier positions. “So, why’d you finally say it?” Bossuet was the one ready to get them back on track.

“Why’d you even see him? I thought you were working on commissions this week?” Musichetta added, which caused Joly to cry out again.

“Have you been staying up all night again? You know how unhealthy that is! The average person requires at leas-”

“Well, good thing I’m not the average person,” Grantaire interrupted, “and yeah, one of those commissions was some posters for Enjolras. I thought I could just hand them over and be done with it, but… he was being all concerned and it was annoying but at the same time thoughtful? Like, I wanted him to shut up but also wanted him to keep caring like that?”

“R… please tell me you didn’t…”

“I didn’t even realize I’d said it until I got back here!” he wailed, “I just told him I loved him and left! God, he must think I’m so pathetic. He hates me. He’s a smart guy; he has to hate me. I can’t stay in town and deal with this. I need to get away. Joly, you get into the morgue, find me a body double. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just good enough.”

“You want me to wh-?!”

“Bossuet, you’re in charge of making my alibi airtight. We were hanging out at your place when I suddenly decided in a pique of artistic madness to stick a fork in an electrical socket and you were helpless to do anything. Really play up the heartbreak.”

“Have you thought about doing this before?” Bossuet seemed genuinely impressed.

“‘Chetta, you have t-”

“I’m not smuggling you out of another city,” Musichetta cut in.

“You’re still angry about Toronto? Bec-”

He was suddenly interrupted by his pillow almost smothering him again as Musichetta moved almost too quickly to see. Even Joly took a few steps back at the fury in her eyes.

“ _ Five. Hundred. Dollars,” _ she hissed. If he thought she was going to let that one go, he had another thing coming. He was lucky she was nice enough to not force him to sell his plasma to pay her back. Really, she was too good for him.

“Also, you probably don’t have to run away from this,” Bossuet pointed out, gently trying to remove the pillow before Grantaire suffocated, "you could just, you know, talk to him about it."

Once he could breathe again, Grantaire pointed out, “when have I not run away from my problems?”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Joly spoke up like the angel he was, “you’ve been sober for four months, that's not easy for anyone to do. And this doesn't have to be a problem. No matter what happens between you two, we're going to be here for you.”

For the first time that night, Grantaire’s emotions weren’t over the top. He stared up at Joly in surprise as tears started to well in his eyes.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Musichetta made the executive decision that it was time for cuddles. She grabbed Grantaire’s arm and started to drag him to their nest out in the living room. Enjolras wasn't important right then. What was important was making sure her best friend knew how much he was loved.


	3. Chapter 3

It took almost a solid five minutes of Courfeyrac cackling like a madman for Combeferre to stumble out of bed. He glanced around the room once, taking stock of his hysterical boyfriend and shellshocked best friend and shook his head.

“We’re not doing this this early in the morning,” he grumbled. He stepped forward and grabbed Enjolras by the arm and started to drag him back to his room, “both of you are getting sleep, then we’ll talk about it.”

Courfeyrac seemed to be trying to explain through his wheezing, but just couldn’t get himself under control. Even in his half-asleep state, Combeferre had to admit that it was utterly charming. Not charming enough to keep him from dragging him roughly by the arm back to bed just so he could  _ sleep _ , but charming.

The next day, the trio were seated at Combeferre and Enjolras’s dining table with bowls of cereal in front of them. They would’ve had coffee too if someone hadn’t decided his essay was more important than grocery shopping.

Not that Combeferre was bitter, or anything.

“So, what was so important that you needed to wake me up at two in the morning for?” he started, eager to get to the rest of the day.

Enjolras let out a long, pained groan and dropped his head on the table. “That bad, huh?”

Courfeyrac started laughing again, way too chipper for the time. “Grantaire came over last night,” he explained.

“Well, if you two fought again your screaming probably would’ve woken me up first, so that can’t be it. Not to mention that you haven’t had one of those fights in months. Mind filling in the gaps, Enjolras?”

Slowly, Enjolras’s head lifted up just enough that he could talk without eating the placemat. “He… told me he loved me.”

Combeferre was a mature, logical man. He certainly didn’t react to surprises by sucking his spoonful of cereal so quickly that his boyfriend had to pat him on the back to keep him from choking. Nope, he was just a little surprised and decided to cough away the awkward.

“Alright,” he said once he could talk again, “well, this is Grantaire, you sure it wasn’t just a joke?” As much as he wanted the weird thing between them to resolve itself, he didn’t want them to get hurt by acting rashly.

“He was very,  _ very  _ tired,” Courfeyrac supplied, and that was all Combeferre needed to figure out why Enjolras was panicking like he was. He could just picture how genuine Grantaire was as he confessed. Who the hell let Grantaire be around Enjolras in that state? Oh, right, the guy sitting right next to him.

He shot Courfeyrac a glare, but the traitor just kept eating breakfast without a care in the world.

“Well, how do you feel about that, Enjolras?” he asked the sulking rebel.

As Combeferre expected, Enjolras simply stared back, as if he hadn’t even thought to ask himself that question. When it came to interpersonal relationships, Enjolras needed all the help he could get.

Eventually, he managed to mutter, “I don’t… know? It was all really sudden and I don’t know why he’d say it…”

“Maybe he said it because he loves you,” Courfeyrac interrupted, “or wants you to bend him over the nearest flat surface. Probably not much of a difference to him. Hey, maybe he wants you to be-” He suddenly cut himself off with a gasp as Combeferre’s foot crushed his own.

“Not helping,” he said before turning back to Enjolras, who had a rather noticeable blush forming, “Enjolras, why don’t you tell me how you feel about Grantaire.”

“How…?” he stuttered, then stopped, contemplating, “I don’t know. I guess I admire him. I’ve never met anyone who was as good at so many things as him. Who else could be good at painting and dancing and fencing and boxing and who knows how many other things? Everytime he talks about himself, it’s like he reveals some new crazy talent you never would’ve expected.

“And, well, I didn’t get it at first but I think he really does care? Even when he tears down all of my arguments, it feels like he just wants me to make them better. It makes sense because he’s insanely thoughtful. Remember that time Jehan had shut themselves up in their room, and he sat on the other side of the door for the entire day just talking until they came back out? He smiled so much once they finally opened the door.

“It’s a nice smile too. I’m glad he’s smiling more, I just love seeing it. It just lights up his whole face. I wish I could make him smile like that, a- what?” He only stopped talking once he saw the exasperated expressions on his friends’ faces.

“Enj… do you remember all those times I gushed about Combeferre to you before we started dating?” Courfeyrac said, slowly, as if talking to a particularly unintelligent child.

“Yeah, of course, why…?” They simply watched as Enjolras’s mind tried to parse through what was going on. It was really quite impressive to see every thought play out on his face.

Eventually, the pin seemed to drop, and the mild blush from earlier returned full-force. Enjolras’s response to the realization was as calm and rational as to be expected.

He started screeching like a pterodactyl at his cereal.

Ignoring that, Combeferre turned to Courfeyrac. “Did you really gush about me before we were dating?”

“Of course. Otherwise I’d just have to silently watch you be amazing until I just exploded from how much I love you.”

“You sap,” Combeferre muttered fondly as he pulled him in for a kiss. Enjolras continued to screech as they had their little moment. They’d waited years for him to realize how he felt, he could wait a few minutes for them to be cute.


	4. Chapter 4

If Grantaire had any say in the matter, he probably would’ve slept for the next few hundred years. Not just to avoid Enjolras, but because sleeping was awesome and getting out of bed was a bitch.

Still, he had annoyingly wonderful friends who forced him to get to class and actually take care of himself, and once night rolled around, they dragged him to the Les Amis meeting as usual.

While it wasn’t quiet, Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire’s entrance certainly raised the volume a few notches. Bossuet’s arm was around Grantaire’s neck, just to make absolutely sure he wasn’t going to try and escape. Again.

To anyone who hadn’t been informed of the drama (which, given how codependent this group was, the entire group had known before Grantaire had even woken up the second time that morning), it probably just looked like they were having fun with friends. Grantaire knew how to make himself look like he was much more cheerful than he was.

As they entered the Musain together, Grantaire’s eye instinctively landed on Enjolras’s spot at the front of the room, only to see him looking right back. As soon as they made eye contact, Enjolras turned so quickly Grantaire could feel his own neck throb in sympathy.

Well, at least he knew how unwelcome that confession was. If he was lucky, Enjolras would decide to ignore it until he could go back to pretending Grantaire wasn’t little more than the gum stuck to his shoe and everything would be normal.

He was startled out of his pity-fest by someone’s fist connecting with his arm. Yelping in surprise, he turned to see Eponine glaring at him. A quick glance around the room let him spot Joly and Bossuet getting their own drinks, apparently having abandoned him at a table to face her wrath on his own.

“I can tell exactly what you’re thinking,” she said, “self-loathing isn’t the best look on you.” Of course she’d be the one to pick up on his thoughts first. They’d ranted to each other about unrequited love enough times that they could reach each other like open books.

“Is anything a good look on me?” he replied with a cheeky smirk. That only got him an exasperated huff as she deposited the soda she’d gotten for him. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only when your lazyass found walking across the room to get your own damn drink too hard,” she muttered, a small smile breaking through the annoyance. The smile disappeared as she looked behind Grantaire’s head.

He followed her line of sight and almost had a heart attack at the realization that Enjolras was right there, struggling for words for once.

In a panic, Grantaire fell back on what he did best, being an annoying asshole. “Ah, mighty Apollo has descended from Olympus to speak unto us. What wisdom has he brought, for us lowly mortals?” He probably would’ve kept going to watch Enjolras slowly lose the uncertainty if not for Eponine stomping so hard on his foot that he jumped nearly a foot in the air with a yelp.

A little disoriented by the sudden cry, Enjolras finally spoke up. “I actually wanted to talk to you about… yesterday. I wanted to get this over with before the meeting starts.”

Grantaire’s face fell briefly before he managed to cover it with a smile. Getting it over with, huh? As if the embarrassment was just a minor annoyance to Enjolras, and he wanted it dealt with before it became an actual problem.

Glancing between the two of them, Eponine sighed and stood up, grabbing Enjolras by the arm. “You’re going to want privacy for this,” she explained as she started leading him, gesturing for Grantaire to follow.

Given how loud Les Amis were and how quiet Eponine could be when she wanted, Grantaire couldn’t hear what she was saying to Enjolras, but he could see that it caused him to blanch and look genuinely terrified for their quick walk to an old janitor’s closet that had just enough room for the two of them.

“Really, Ep?” Grantaire sighed, “could you have picked anywhere more cliche?”

“Would it be less cliche if I kicked you in the nuts before leaving you two alone?” she asked, voice so sickeningly sweet that he shuddered.

With that, the two were unceremoniously shoved in and left to just talk. Grantaire’s favorite thing…

“So, talking,” he muttered, watching as Enjolras slowly went from terrified at whatever Eponine said to unsure, something Grantaire wasn’t used to seeing on Enjolras’s face.

“Right, well, ah. About last night, you left rather abruptly, so I wasn’t really able to… properly communicate my feelings on the matter.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but chuckle and say, “you make it sound like I left after some one night stand.”

The light in the closet was pretty poor, but he could’ve sworn he saw Enjolras blush at his words. He doubted it, though, as Enjolras’s voice was pretty steady as he said, “alright, that was poorly worded on my part. What I mean to say is that after your… confession, I-I well, thought about some… things.”

“Very specific, Apollo.” Grantaire wasn’t sure when he’d gained such masochistic tendencies, but he couldn’t stop himself from making Enjolras even more pissed off at him. Maybe he was just hoping that Enjolras would get to the point and kick him out already.

“ _ As I was saying _ , this, ah… relationships, I mean, aren’t really something I’ve thought about. I’ve always thought of it as a distraction. So, I’m not sure if what I’m about to say is… well, wise.” It was a little surreal to watch Enjolras fidget uncomfortably. Grantaire knew it was possible, but it still felt like something Enjolras wasn’t capable of.

“Enjolras, are you worried I’m going to judge you? Because, lest we forget, I was the one who confessed his love for the most unattainable human being imaginable just because I was tired.” Surprisingly, Enjolras seemed taken aback by his words. What, was he too blunt?

“Unattainable?” Enjolras repeated, “how… me?”

“Uh, yeah, you. I mean, have you seen yourself? You’re utterly gorgeous in basically every way. Haven’t I drunkenly explained your various beauties enough for you to get that?”

“Well, yeah, you've said that a lot,” Enjolras muttered, his blush so strong that Grantaire couldn’t explain it away, “but, beauty isn’t the most important part of a relationship. If it was just that, you’d have found someone you’re more compatible with eventually, right?”

Groaning, Grantaire facepalmed and shook his head. “That’s just the thing. You’re not just physically flawless. Since I’m already in too deep, you’re pretty much the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re awkward in that endearing way that just makes everyone like you more. And that’s when you’re talking one-on-one. I’ve never seen anyone as amazing at talking in front of crowds as you. And you just try so hard! You somehow live in this fucked-up shithole of a world and decide to never give up, no matter how bad it gets. It’s amazing and beautiful and I can’t stand it!”

Enjolras jumped as Grantaire suddenly shoved an accusational finger in his face, getting more and more worked up.

“Of course I love you for more than just your pretty face! You think I would’ve devoted myself to a group that actually tries to do anything if I didn’t believe in you? I don’t even understand how you could exist! I thought I was done believing in any of that stupid ‘we can do it if we just try hard enough’ bullshit, but whenever you talk, I don’t just believe,  _ I know _ you can!”

The silence in the little closet was deafening as Grantaire tried to back away in embarrassment. That… was not how that was supposed to go. He just couldn’t understand why someone like Enjolras would need to hear good things from someone like him.

He was about to make some joke to ease the tension, when he suddenly felt Enjolras’s hands pushing him against one of the shelves of cleaner.

Panicking, Grantaire started to ramble, “I, shit, I shouldn’t-! You wanted to forget what I said, didn’t you, and no-”

“Shut up,” Enjolras practically growled before attacking Grantaire’s mouth with his own.

There were a few seconds where Grantaire’s head needed to reboot. He just repeatedly thought  _ “what the hell, what the hell, what the hell,” _ on loop until he felt Enjolras start to pull away. Suddenly, his brain caught up with the situation, and all he could think was,  _ “oh god, yes.” _

He quickly fisted his hands into Enjolras’s coat, just to keep him there as he returned the kiss. Enjolras let out a pleased hum at the sensation, the nervousness from before melting away at the feeling of warmth and hot and other things that he couldn’t even think of in the moment.

Hesitantly, Enjolras licked along the seam of Grantaire’s lips, and the cynic eagerly opened up for him to deepen the kiss. The two moaned in tandem, completely caught up in the moment, when they were both practically blinded when the door was open.

“Hey guys, ‘Ferre ask- oh my God!” Courfeyrac simply stared at the two, looking dazed before grinning so widely it looked like it had to hurt, “damn Enj! I thought you were just going to confess! You get your man!”

“Fuck off!” Enjolras yelled as he slammed the door in Courfeyrac’s face.

Still feeling absolutely stunned, Grantaire could only mutter into the crook of Enjolras’s neck, “you know he’s going to tell everyone, right?”

He felt Enjolras’s hands under his chin, gently directing him to look up. When they made eye contact, Enjolras smiled softly; with the soft pink of his blush, Grantaire couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight.

“Maybe they’ll realize not to interrupt again,” he said, softly, before leaning down to capture Grantaire’s lips again.

They didn’t rejoin the meeting until it was almost halfway over. Once they did, the applause almost managed to drown out Joly and Combeferre both admonishing them for ruining a perfectly good janitor’s closet.

It was embarrassing, but the two couldn’t stop grinning as they walked hand in hand back to their friends.


End file.
